


I Met a Man That Wasn't There

by DollyDoppler



Category: Archive 81 (Podcast), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A81 setting takes place s3e8, Author attempts to combine two extremely abstract concepts into one fic, Gen, MAG 85, Repetition is like music, The Spiral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyDoppler/pseuds/DollyDoppler
Summary: Trapped in a liminal state, Nicholas has no choice but to move forward.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	I Met a Man That Wasn't There

Liminality is defined as a state of transition. It is not a state that is. It is not a state that was. It is a state that is going to be. For the unfortunate souls that stumble upon its corridors, most will never escape it. Realization is never guaranteed. 

Nicholas Waters has never been comfortable relying on himself for important matters. To him, personal failure is more terrifying than death. It is why he invited Chris to investigate the tapes their father left him. It is why he recruited Static Man’s help. It is why the payphone loosened the blindfold. 

The longer he remains trapped in a liminal state, the louder these thoughts become. It chokes him, these feelings of incompetence and fear, and fogs his judgement. He is powerless to it. He will likely succumb to it. The only reason he has made it this far, he thinks, is because Chris has been with him from the start. 

Miles upon miles of stone floor stretch ahead of him, shaped into the semblance of a long and endless hallway. There is no ceiling, simply a darkness that is suffocating in its vastness. He is lost, far away from the voice of his half-sister and the woman that inadvertently brought him here. No one is coming to save him, that much he knows.

Through these eternal halls he walks. There is nothing for him to do but walk, to see what this transition has to offer him. To see who he finds, and who forces him away. He is alone. The only company he has are the echoes of his stilted footsteps.

“Hello?” he cries out, helpless to his instincts. “Is anyone there?” No one answers.

The hallway extends itself, stretching to accommodate his desire to walk down its path. There are no doors, no diverging passageways. All he sees is one long, continuous corridor. How can he find a way out if the only direction is forward? The hallway extends itself.

It wouldn’t be so terrible, he supposes, if it weren’t for the monotony of it all. Miles upon Miles of perfection. Not even a scuff to catch his interest or act as a marker for how far he’s traveled. He wonders to himself, does this woefully limited perception of the liminal state have an end? 

It must, because his next step hits the beginnings of a staircase. He looks up. 

There is a man standing there, and yet Nicholas remains alone.

If he weren’t trapped within a state of endless transition, a continuous nothingness, he would have found it rather odd. Of course, one cannot describe what does not exist; however, if he were to associate words with this emptiness, he would describe it as “surprised” and “a smile with too many teeth.”

Although alarmed, Nicholas does not question it. He has met a man made of static, a phone made of flesh, and has sunken his teeth into a goat’s heart during a magic ritual. This essence of liminality, if anything, is to be expected.

The man that isn’t there does not speak, yet he asks if Nicholas would like to accompany him. Nicholas reluctantly accepts the empty proposition and begins his climb, for there is no other way to go but up. The man does not move, yet he remains ahead of Nicholas at all times. Neither speaks. One because he chooses not to, the other because he’s not able to. The steps twist in a slow and gentle spiral up and up and up. Every other step feels misshapen, worn down, and uneven from use. There are times when the steps unexpectedly change in height, never allowing Nicholas to become comfortable with his ascent. 

His analog watch has long since stopped working. Like grotesque metallic vines, its hands twist between the gears halting it in its track. Time becomes meaningless after. Every attempt he has made to count has resulted in him losing his train of thought, as if the numbers no longer made sense to him and the more he focused on them the more difficult it became. He hasn’t given it another attempt for a while now. 

The walls roll and twist and undulate, palpitating like an irregular heartbeat. The floor writhes as if hundreds of thousands of small insects creep across the steps, and Nicholas finds himself having trouble distinguishing his feet from the cement. His hand is now empty of the cane he has been using, but for the life of him he cannot remember when he had dropped it. Yet the pain, the pain he should feel due to such a strenuous climb does not so much as incite a twinge in his bad leg. He starts to forget why he is climbing those steps, where he is going, what he is doing. Yet he continues to ascend. Like transferring water with his bare hands, his own name slips through his fingers. He is afraid. He is afraid and the more he tries to think, the harder it becomes, and the greater the fear grows. He is afraid and yet he is not exactly sure why he is afraid because where he is, where he is walking. He belongs there.

And then he is standing in a hallway.

“What?” His leg gives out and he topples to the floor, landing harshly on cold stone. His cane lies a few feet away from him. He grits his teeth and crawls towards it, clutching it so desperately that his knuckles turn white. “Nicholas,” Nicholas says to himself. “My name is Nicholas Waters.” 

The hallway extends itself. And Nicholas is alone. 


End file.
